Since You Left
by Lennox Case
Summary: Alfred and Arthur seek to find the line between codependency and the freedom to live their own lives. But how far can they get before they're dragged back by the burden of blood?


I paused on the sidewalk in front of the house that I knew as my childhood home. Well, my second childhood home. Pushing through the fence and leaping up the stairs, I realized that nothing had changed in the three years that I've been gone. Even the feel of the doorbell was the same.

"Oh, you're here!" exclaimed the person who opened the door. "Ah, c-come right in."

Yeah, nothing had changed.

Walking past the doorway, I realized that nothing in the house had changed either. It was like I had never left. It was almost sickening.

"Here, let me get your bags," he said, taking them from me. "How was the trip?"

"Not bad," I said glancing at him. Even the clothes he wore were still the same old ones. "The school has a shuttle that brought me most of the way here."

"That's good," he said, struggling to heave even one bag toward the stairs. "But you know, I could have given you a ride."

"I didn't want to impose," I said, taking the bags from him and walking up the stairs. "By the way," I paused. "Are you sure it's alright for me to be crashing at your place? I didn't think they would actually kick out the upperclassmen over break."

"What are you talking about?" he said from the bottom. "This is still your house. You can come and go as you please."

I stared at him for a moment over my shoulder, before shrugging and continuing on my way. Even after that, I could still feel his eyes on my back.

* * *

"What are you making?" I asked, glancing toward the stove from the dining table.

"Hm?" he said, slightly turning his face over his shoulder. "Oh, it's that pot roast you used to like when you were a kid."

"Gross."

"What?" He now turned around to glare at me. "But this is your favorite! You have no idea what you're talking about." The sound of something whistling on the fire brought back his attention, and he cursed as he did so.

Arthur was never really bad at cooking. It's just that he never took the time to learn how to make anything else. But still, I don't think that was the reason why I found his food so unappetizing.

When everything was done and set on the table, we sat down across each other at a table for six. I found it hard to believe any of the other chairs were ever used.

"So, how's school?" he asked, passing me a bowl of steamed green beans.

"Fine," I said taking it but putting it down. "Classes don't seem to be so hard yet. How's work?"

"Hm?" he said, swallowing a mouthful of potato. "It's going great actually."

I could tell that he wanted to tell me more about it, but I didn't feel like giving him the pleasure of doing so.

"So, is there anything fun to do around here?" I focused on twirling my fork on the surface of my plate.

"Ah," he said with a hint of disappointment. "Well, we could go to the new space exhibit that just opened last weekend. I remember you liked those kinds of things."

"Hm…" I shrugged a shoulder.

"Or… we could do something else," he broke in quickly. "It's your choice."

The remainder of dinner was silent. We simply finished our meal, cleared the table, and went to different rooms. Isn't that what any other family does?

* * *

After a couple days of our routine, I found that I was still alone at home one night without a word from him. It was already past two in the morning. What the hell could be doing at this—?

A ring at the door automatically brought me up from the couch. Walking quickly, I didn't know why I felt the need to brace myself for anything. When I opened the door, I saw two people. One was someone in a suit that I didn't recognize, and the other was my brother, hanging over his shoulder.

"Oh, you must be Alfred," said the man, holding up my brother. "Special delivery," he laughed, motioning to the practically limp idiot who reeked of alcohol.

After thanking him for the unwanted surprise, I took my brother and led him to the couch which he fell on top of like a sack of bricks.

"So this is what you do Friday nights?" I asked, looking from above. I guess I couldn't blame him, but didn't he say that his job was going well? Maybe I should have asked more.

A low laugh rumbled from the base of his throat. "Oh, Al," he said, struggling to sit up. "I'm so ha—happy to see you."

I stared at him with my mouth agape. "Let me go make you some coffee to flush out whatever your liver's swimming in." But as I turned around, I felt a hand tug at my shirt.

"Wait, wait," he said, trying to focus his gaze on me. "I have to tell you something. Here, sit, sit, sit."

I sat down next to him, wondering how other people handled this kind of situation. "What? What's so important?"

"Have I—Have I ever told you about the time after we ran away from Mom and Dad?"

"W-why are you bringing this up now?"

"But you remember, right," he said swaying toward me. "You were old enough to remember it."

"Of course I remember. I always remember," I said, sounding defensive.

"Well," he slurred. "You only know what was in front of you."

"What are you talking about?" I saw him lean toward the arm of the couch as if he forgot what he had just said. I grabbed his arm to pull him back upright. "No, wait. What are you talking about?" I said a little louder.

I wasn't sure, but I saw his eyebrows strain together as if he were still trying to control what he wanted to say. "I…"

After a lingering pause, I shook his arm harder. "Come on, say it!"

"I gave my life up for you, you little shit! And this is how you've repaid me? By leaving as soon as you could? Do you have any idea how hard it was for an eighteen-year old to run away from home with an eight-year old brat strapped to your back?"

My fingers lost their grip and my arm dropped between us.

"I couldn't go to college," he said, trying to put his palm over his heart but still missing its target. "You have no idea of all the sacrifices I made to make sure you had a life. All those part-time jobs and you, crying, every single damn time I got home late. What did you expect?" He choked a little, and I thought he would vomit right then. Instead he just wiped the spit from his lips and slowly laughed.

"But I—I never told you any of this…I didn't want you to worry about anything especially after what our good-for-nothing parents had done to us. I mean, really. You should have seen your face when you were a kid. So pathetic!" He was breathing hard and rested his back against the couch. Eventually, his head rolled back over the edge and he was silent.

I stood and backed away from him, like he would somehow come alive and strangle me. Who was this person? I felt like I should have known like it was right in front of me, but I—

* * *

It was almost noon by the time he came out of his room. He sauntered out the doorway, covering his eyes as the first rays of sunlight hit him.

"Ugh, my head feels awful," he groaned. "But…I feel like I did something terrible last night."

"Yeah, you ran out of the house without any clothes on."

"What?" he looked up with eyes and mouth wide open.

"I'm just messing with you. You should've seen your—"

"_You should've seen you face when you were a kid…"_

I pressed my lips together and looked away. I wish I could forget, too.

* * *

It was several days since my brother came home drunk. And he still didn't remember anything about last week. Being cooped up in that house forced me to decipher what he had said and what he was really trying to tell me. I placed my hand on my head, trying to sooth the pulsing at my temple. I thought to the conversation we had earlier today.

"_Hey, Al. I'm off to work. There's leftovers in the fridge for you." I saw him in his rumpled suit struggle to stuff some papers in his old, beat-up briefcase. _

"_Hey, is work…really going well?" The sound of paper shuffling had stopped and he looked back at me._

"_Yes…it is. Why do you ask?"_

"_Just wanted to know. I mean you asked about my school so…" Just then, I felt a hand ruffle my hair and I saw my brother smiling down at me. "Hey, I'm not a kid anymore! Why do you always treat me like one?" I shot back, ducking out of the way._

_His hand paused in midair before he brought it back quickly. "S-sorry about that. I just—I'll see you in the evening," he said with a weak smile before he scurried out the door. _

Even hours later, I felt no better about what had happened. But he's always seen me as just a kid even after I got into college—even after I began paying for it on my own. I wanted him to see that life wasn't like how it was before with just the two of us. Because what if something happened to one of us? Would the other be alone for the rest of their life? No! Jeez…why am I thinking about all of this?

Suddenly, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Alfred. It's about your brother."

* * *

"Shit, don't scare me like that you ass!" I said walking from the bar that I managed to salvage my brother from. We walked slowly down the sidewalk back to the direction of our neighborhood as I pulled one arm over my shoulder and put my other arm around his ribs. "What the hell phone call was that? "_'It's about your brother'_", I imitated in a taunting voice.

"What?" he yelled into my ear. "You thought I was dead or something? Ha! Dead! Then what would you do?"

"Don't joke like that."

"Oh, I'm not joking," he sneered. "But here you are—come to my rescue once again!"

I let out a harsh breath, letting that translate into all the curses I wanted to throw at him. "Why do always do this? Is it really that bad? Uh…work I mean."

"Nope, life is fantastic. You should try it someday, Al. Tastes a bit like piss."

"What? You've tasted—?" No. Drop it. Just drop it. "Whatever, let's just get home."

"I'm tired," he whined. "Let's go over there for a bit." His shaking arm aimed in the direction of a bus stop hovered over by a street lamp.

"But we're not that far." But at once, he refused to take another step, leaving me to drag his once-polished work shoes against the concrete. "Okay, fine! We'll go!"

"There! Are you happy?" I said plopping him down on the wooden bench. He grinned up at me and patted the space next to him with a lazy slap. Sighing, I sat down and stared out across the dark street before us.

"You know," he hiccupped, breaking the silence. "I don't think we've ever had a real talk between us."

"We have. Except you did all the talking."

"Hm?" he said, moving his head forward to look at me. "I don't remember."

"I know."

"Well," he said, looking up at the pitch black sky. "For a brother, you've always been—"

"Pathetic?" I said, refusing to look at him. "The worst part is…that I understand where you're coming from. I know I've been dependent on you…on pretty much anyone. And—and that's why I chose to leave. I know you thought it didn't make any sense for me to move out as soon as I entered college even though it was close by, and you probably thought that I hated you for some reason, but that's not true. I knew that I had what it took to lead my own life and I wanted you to be proud of me for that, but it just...didn't work out that way."

I felt a hand fall on my shoulder, and I turned to see his eyes look at me seriously. "I was going to say useful…but I'm not so sure anymore."

I let out a brief snort, as if to mark the irony of my situation. But my smile faded as quickly as it appeared. "But I'm serious. As a kid, I really admired you for managing to raise a poor excuse for a brother. And I really am thankful for taking me with you even if this life we're living really does taste like piss."

He laughed out loud and hit me on the back. Afterward, we remained silent on that bench letting the cool air and the darkness seep through. Suddenly, his body fell toward mine and his head collided with my shoulder. He was out cold. He was already forgetting like his brain was implanted with a rewind button.

"It sucks though," I said though the cold air. "I can only talk to you like this when you're drunk. But that's good, right? You won't remember this tomorrow anyway."

My eyes had begun to sting. It had to be the stench of the alcohol. After all, it was the only thing that I knew how to blame.


End file.
